


quiet company

by doxian



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst, Clairvoyance, Codependency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Gift Exchange, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Multi, Soul Bond, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-11
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-30 17:52:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6434422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doxian/pseuds/doxian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like Kuroo does every morning, he senses Kenma before he sees him. Kenma isn’t awake yet - he’s toying with the idea of total wakefulness, his flickering consciousness brushing against the back of Kuroo’s brain. </p><p>Kuroo has started his day like this almost every day for the last 15 years of his life, and he hasn’t tired of it yet. He doubts he ever will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	quiet company

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HapaxLegomenon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HapaxLegomenon/gifts).



> title from Hunger by Of Monsters and Men, although the following track Wolves Without Teeth is also a good fit.
> 
> a big thank you to [Icie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/icie) for brainstorming with me and coming up with numerous important plot points!
> 
> i chose not to use archive warnings bc it spoils the fic, but if you would like to read anyway please click on the end notes.

Kuroo wakes up to the sound of a train thundering over the tracks at the neighbouring station and to sunlight seeping through a gap in the curtains. 

Like he does every morning, he senses Kenma before he sees him. Kenma isn’t awake yet - he’s toying with the idea of total wakefulness, his flickering consciousness brushing against the back of Kuroo’s brain. Kuroo isn’t sure which of them started stirring first; neither does he know whether he’d woken up in response to the noise outside or to Kenma’s almost-awake not-quite thoughts in his head. 

Often, a half-awake Kenma is also the first thing Kuroo sees every morning, too, but he’d fallen asleep in his own bed last night, for once.

Kuroo turns over to lay on his back, demolishing the miniature fort of pillows piled against both of his ears with his shift in position. A quick glance at the clock on his bed-stand reveals that his alarm is going to go off soon, but for now he’s content to just lay here with his eyes half-shut and his hands behind his head, letting himself drift on Kenma’s gentle current of half-pieced-together sensations and snatches of dreams. 

He’s started his day like this almost every day for the last 15 years of his life, and he hasn’t tired of it yet. He doubts he ever will. 

_Kuro,_ Kenma thinks at him from his bedroom down the hall, _it’s too early for you to be this embarrassing already._ The message is accompanied by a vague sense of pleasure, in spite of what Kenma is saying, along with a more insistent, wordless clamoring for food. 

Kuroo laughs. 

“Alright, alright,” he says into his empty bedroom, even though there’s no need for him to state the words out loud for Kenma to hear. “Breakfast. Bacon and eggs okay?”

His comforter is bunched around his hips where he’d shoved it down during the night. He pushes it fully off, now, getting out of bed and grabbing a pair of pants from among the clothes scattered on the floor, pulling them on before heading downstairs to their kitchen. 

—

It takes Kenma a while to follow him. Kuroo’s finished scrambling the eggs and is about to start frying some bacon by the time Kenma shows up, scuffing his slippered feet on the linoleum and yawning. He sits down at their little square dining table and Kuroo presents him with a mug of coffee before he even asks. They’re out of milk; Kenma picks that fact out of Kuroo’s brain and moves to hunt for creamer and sugar in the pantry, instead.

He gives Kuroo and his shirtlessness a scrutinizing look as he walks past.

“Hey,” Kuroo protests, “I'm wearing an apron, aren't I?" He gestures to the fire engine red apron tied around his waist with "Kiss the Cook!" emblazoned across the chest, naturally. (If he was cooking almost anything else, he'd forgo it, but he has to protect his bare chest against the aggressively spitting oil somehow.) He drops the bacon into the pan; it sizzles in a loud roar that overwhelms the small space along with the mouthwatering scent of meat and grease. 

“No visions yet this morning?” he asks as Kenma sits back down with his freshly sweetened coffee. 

They could easily converse in their heads for hours - and they have, before - but Kuroo likes talking out loud. He likes hearing Kenma's voice. There's also the issue of how Kenma would gladly fall into the habit of barely speaking, and relying on Kuroo to do most of his talking for him. That's happened before, too, when they were still in high school. It's not something Kuroo minded doing, but he tries his best to discourage it, for Kenma's sake. 

Kenma shakes his head. 

"Still plenty of time for that, today," he says. 

As soon as he says that, the image of Kuroo stubbing his toe on the corner of the kitchen counter bursts into both their minds. Kuroo’s surprised expression is so vivid and the angle with which he knocks into the counter is so straight-on that Kuroo has to wince in sympathy for his future self.

"That's going to happen to you 20 minutes from now," Kenma deadpans, taking the spoon out of his mug and pointing at Kuroo with it. 

Kuroo snorts. 

“Sure. We both know that you’re terrible when it comes to judging time with these things, c’mon.”

Kuroo finishes cooking the rest of their food and makes up two plates, grabbing some toast out of the toaster before joining Kenma at the table. They eat in silence. Kuroo subconsciously notices how Kenma's thoughts begin to string themselves together in a more coherent fashion as he sips his coffee. 

"Do you need me in the shop today?" Kenma mumbles with his mouth full. Kuroo knows that Kenma hopes that the answer is _no_ , but Kuroo appreciates him asking anyway, especially when he would much rather stay upstairs playing his video games. 

"I wanted to organize some new stock, so yes," he says. Kenma nods.

_Boring._

"You mean to say you get _bored_ around me?" Kuroo says, clutching his chest in mock-hurt. Kenma wrinkles his nose. 

"You know what I mean..."

"I know. Stocking shelves isn't the most exciting task in the world, but I'll try my best to keep you entertained," Kuroo promises. 

They finish eating. Kuroo chugs the rest of his lukewarm coffee and puts his dishes in the sink. 

And then he stubs his toe on the kitchen counter on his way out the door. 

" _Ow_ , fuck." He examines the toe, hopping on one foot. Kenma just walks past him. 

"Kenma, I thought you were only messing with me earlier,” he complains. 

"I was," Kenma says with a yawn. "Lucky guess." 

—

The shop is a dimly lit maze of wooden shelves and a tapestry of mismatched carpeting, tiles, and bare wooden floorboards. It takes up most of the ground floor of the house, while their kitchen and a couple of storage rooms sit behind it. The front is all glass and wood with the name of the shop scrawled across it in elegant black cursive: _Nekoma Gift Shop & Lost and Found_. A bit of a misnomer. Plenty of the items they sold could be considered gifts, and valuable, lost items seemed to have an uncanny knack of turning up here. They’d retrieved a sapphire and diamond ring belonging to a woman down the street who was sure she’d accidentally dropped it down the drain of her kitchen sink, and an old clock that was an heirloom of a family from the Scottish Highlands. The husband and wife found it again after stopping into the shop on a whim while on vacation.

Kuroo isn’t sure if it’s the house itself or the ground its built on that lends the plot of land its quality - this inexorable pull that magical and treasured objects alike can’t seem to resist. Nekomata hadn’t explained how exactly the property worked when he handed it over to Kuroo. The old geezer hadn’t even explained why he’d picked _Kuroo_ to take over once he’d decided to retire, having no children or grandchildren of his own. Kuroo found himself unable to refuse when he was presented with the proposition, even though he never considered running a shop after university. He had too many fond memories to say no - memories of running into the shop and goggling at all the funny trinkets as a kid, and then slinking in for a few moments of solace when he needed to think or talking over his problems with Nekomata as a teenager. His biggest worry had been that Nekomata himself was responsible for the place’s power, and that items would stop turning up once he left to retire to his little house in the hills. When he’d shared his concerns, though, the old man had clapped Kuroo on the shoulder, a smile deepening the wrinkles in his face, turning them into dark lines like rivers and creeks marked out on a map. 

He’d be fine, Nekomata insisted. A few days after Kuroo moved into the apartment above the shop, he found himself finding things. Tripping over them in the street, coincidentally being handed them at gatherings, sometimes seeing them turn up on his doorstep. 

Kuroo isn’t sure if he’d always been like this, or if he’d inherited Nekomata’s skill along with the shop, but he doesn’t question it. 

Kenma had moved into the guest room the following year. 

The arrangement was supposed to be temporary, just until Kenma figured out his next step, but it turned out that Kuroo could use the extra help, and Kenma’s skill - infinitely cool in spite of its many drawbacks, Kuroo had always thought - had been an invaluable addition to the shop’s range of services. Having Kenma down the hall is an added bonus, as well - not a far cry from when they were growing up together, living just around the corner from each other. 

They don't get any customers for the first couple of hours, this morning. 

There are days where nobody comes by at all, and then there are days where Kuroo swears he encounters everyone in town - typically during or just before important occasions like the new year, or Valentine’s Day or White Day, or exam season, or when there's a big storm coming. 

Kuroo takes inventory while Kenma gets to work organizing some of the more disastrously messy shelves. Throughout it all, Kenma gets visions. They surface to Kenma and Kuroo’s minds like old memories; long-forgotten but always there, merely waiting for the right moment to make themselves known again. They see the housewife who lives just opposite them going to the grocery store and returning home with bags full of fresh produce, only for one of the bags to split open at the bottom, sending oranges and heads of lettuce rolling and bouncing down the street as she shouts in dismay. They see a man they don’t recognize standing at a podium to give a speech to a hall full of people to rambunctious applause, his face glowing with pride. Nothing particularly noteworthy. 

(There's an uncomfortable spark at the back of Kuroo's brain when the fresh produce starts careening down the hill, but he studiously ignores it.)

The doorbell jangles, signalling their first visitor of the day. A steady stream of activity follows after that. 

Around midday, Kuroo finds himself caught up in the surprisingly difficult task of trying to dissuade an old lady - a visitor in town, not a resident - from trying to sell him potions ingredients. He’s bought stock from walk-ins before, but he specializes in artefacts and talismans, not herbs and animal parts. He doesn’t have the knowledge to adequately advise a customer on how to best use ingredients like these. They’d probably just end up sitting on a shelf somewhere - a waste of an investment. 

He starts to zone out when she launches into an explanation of how the beetle legs had been sourced all the way from the jungles of Borneo and how they’re absolutely _killer_ in potions that help you get the best of your enemies, and instead he focuses on her precariously wobbling beehive of white hair and bottle-lens glasses instead of what she’s saying. He hears Kenma snicker from where he’s looking through a hodgepodge of boxes on a shelf a few metres away. 

Kuroo ends up successfully foisting the woman off on Kindaichi.

“He has an apothecary just around the corner,” he explains with a smile. “Big sign with vines coiling all around it. You can’t miss it.” 

_You look like you’re up to something, when you smile like that._

_What? No. I have a perfectly wholesome smile. ‘Sides, this kind of thing is right up that kid’s alley. I’m sure he can deal with her talking his ear off for a minute or thirty, too._

Kenma arches an eyebrow at him. Wry amusement blooms in Kenma’s chest and curls around Kuroo’s heart, tickling like the fronds of a fern. Kuroo chuckles, trying to think of something else that will make Kenma laugh. He likes it when Kenma laughs. He’s so intent on this important task that he almost misses it when the bell rings again. 

Kuroo doesn’t recognize the customers that walk in - more visitors. Three is already a lot for one day, for a town as small as theirs. The boy is tall, attractive in a plain sort of way. A smattering of freckles is sprinkled across his nose and half his chin-length brown hair is bundled into a bun at the back of his head. The girl is blond, tiny, following a step behind the boy, half-hiding behind him and warily regarding the knickknacks crammed onto the shelves, like any one of them is about to spring to life and attack her. Kuroo almost has the urge to offer her tea and a biscuit so that she’ll calm down.

The boy scans the room as if he’s looking for someone. Kuroo is surprised when his gaze slides over him and falls, instead, on Kenma, with a dawning look of recognition. 

“Are you Kozume Kenma?” 

Kenma blinks at him. He doesn’t recognize them either. 

“Shouyou said I should come talk to you, I have a question— I want to know about my future.” 

_Ah. So it’s like that,_ Kuroo thinks. 

There isn’t anyone else in the shop. Kuroo turns the sign on the front door of the shop around to “closed”. 

“Oh! He told me to bring you these, too. Natsu-chan made them. They’re really good, we had some last night!” 

The boy hands Kenma a paper bag. Kenma peeks inside. 

_Red-bean buns._

“You're Shouyou's friend? I haven't seen you around here before…”

“I’m visiting.” The boy smiles. It's a hesitant smile, but the simple shift in expression changes him completely, practically making his entire face light up. “My name is Yamaguchi Tadashi, and this is Yachi Hitoka.”

Yachi looks a little less like she's about to scarper at the first hint of something going wrong now that she and Yamaguchi have stood in the shop for a full five minutes, unscathed. She almost jumps out of her skin when Kuroo steps forward and introduces himself as Kenma's coworker, though. Yamaguchi seems accustomed to this kind of anxiety from her, at least, since his only reaction is to shoot her a reassuring look and take her hand, rubbing his thumb comfortingly over her knuckles. 

_Dating, then,_ he and Kenma think simultaneously.

“Why don't you step into the back and take a seat,” Kuroo says, ushering them all in that direction. Yachi looks nervous again at the words “the back”, but her nervousness gives way to relief when Kuroo just leads them into the kitchen and gestures at the dining table. Yamaguchi, Yachi and Kenma sit down. Kuroo puts the kettle on for tea. Kenma gets a bun out of the bag with a crinkle of paper and starts munching on it. 

“Kenma,” says Kuroo.

Kenma sends Kuroo an internal sigh and gets up to fetch a plate.

“You have some, too,” he says to the other two, upending the bag and spilling the rest of the buns out onto the plate.

Kuroo does give Yachi tea, along with the rest of them - chrysanthemum. He's not sure that it calms her nerves, but at the very least having the cup and the snacks seems to give her something to do with her hands. He knows Kenma has appreciated having something to keep busy with during anxious moments in the past. 

“So,” Kuroo starts when they're all settled. “You're here to ask Kenma to look into your future.”

He clasps his hands together on the table in anticipation. Most of Kenma's clients live in their town, so it's been a while since Kuroo has had a chance to explain how Kenma’s power works. He’s aware of the wave of exasperated fondness is already emanating from Kenma, but soldiers on.

“The most important thing you need to remember about Kenma’s skill is that it isn’t something you can summon at your beck and call, like a… like a pet cat. It’s more like a wandering spirit. It comes and goes as it pleases. Occasionally it’s generous enough to leave us with a pearl of wisdom or two when it visits, but we can’t control that. We have to be patient and wait, like we would for an opportunity or an important visitor.” He puts his hands on his knees and leans forwards, looking at the two newcomers seriously. “Kenma might be able to tell you something important, or he might not. It all depends on how the winds are blowing. But who knows,” he grins at them, “maybe today you’ll get lucky.” 

Yachi and Yamaguchi both turn to stare at Kenma once Kuroo is done talking. Kenma pretends to ignore them, nibbling on his red bean bun and affecting an air of profound disinterest, but Kuroo can tell he’s worried. It’s always a toss-up when strangers walk in. They’ve gotten people who expected a fortune-teller and who came in ready to sneer, and people who expected a learned old sage glowing with magical power. Kenma, obviously young, sitting in a plain teal T-shirt with a yellow starburst on the stomach, shorts, and a too-large, plaid shirt he probably snagged from Kuroo’s floor, doesn’t look like either. Their kitchen doesn’t exactly contribute to an arcane and mysterious atmosphere, as well - unlike the shop, with its shelves crammed with curiosities daubed with runes and strange symbols, the only curiosities in their kitchen are the broken oven they’ve yet to replace, the jaunty fruit-print curtains, and Kuroo’s “World’s #1 Grandpa!” mug, a joke gift from Hinata which he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of. 

“That analogy got away from you,” Kenma remarks quietly, stopping his nibbling long enough to break the silence. “Pet cats don’t come when you call.” 

“That orange tabby who shows up in the garden does, sometimes!” Kuroo protests.

“Kuro,” says Kenma, this time, directing his attention away from their bantering and back towards Yamaguchi with a tilt of his chin. The other boy is furrowing his brows in confusion, but he looks like he’s taking Kuroo’s words seriously, at least. 

“So… we have to just sit and wait to see what happens? Or do you mean you’ll get in touch with me later if you hear, um, see anything?”

Kenma finishes the last of the bun and shakes his head. 

“If you give me something that belongs to you for me to use, that can fine-tune the process.” 

“Oh. Okay,” Yamaguchi says. He picks his backpack up from where he’d set it down on the floor next to him, removing one of the colourful straps that’s dangling off of it. It’s a charm featuring some kind of cartoon character. “How about this?”

Kenma takes it, holding it in his hands and turning it, testing its weight. Yachi watches him curiously, her eyes wide. Kenma eventually passes the charm back to him.

“Do you have anything more personal? More special to you?”

Yamaguchi puts his bag back down and looks thoughtful. After a moment, he digs through his pockets, setting his wallet, his keys, a very small notebook and a handful of junk onto the table, frowning down at them. Then he seems to come to a decision, unclasping the watch on his wrist - a copper face and a leather strap in dark emerald green. It doesn’t look particularly expensive, but it’s clearly seen some regular use. The leather is worn and soft, the hole where it was clasped shut all tugged out of shape. Kuroo thinks he sees Yachi smile shyly and go a bit pink when Yamaguchi hands it over. 

Kenma considers it the same way he’d considered the charm. He looks up at Yamaguchi.

“A gift?”

Yamaguchi nods. He looks a little wary, like he’d just offered up his watch for a magic trick; like Kenma is going to produce a hammer and handkerchief and pretend to smash it to pieces. But Kenma just continues holding it in both of his hands, carefully. 

“I think this will work,” Kenma says. 

If Yachi and Yamaguchi were expecting some kind of signal to start their session, or whatever this is, that’s the only one they get. Kenma sits, turning the watch over and over, running his thin fingers over the texture of the strap, the smooth glass of the watch’s face, the little notches along its edge. 

They wait. Kuroo and Kenma see a boy miss a train in a foreign country which looks to be somewhere in Europe; he runs after it fruitlessly as it chugs out of the station and then out of sight. They see an old woman crying alone in a room over a hand-written letter. 

Minutes pass. Kenma’s face settles into a frown; Kuroo can feel him concentrating, trying to extend a modicum of control over the miasma of images that flows through his head, as changeable as an ocean. Using a personal item to focus helps, but even then the difference it makes can be negligible. They’ve had to tell plenty of customers to come back again after a fruitless session.

Yachi and Yamaguchi are looking at each other uneasily when it finally happens: Kenma draws in a sharp, surprised breath and sits up, staring straight ahead at nothing. His pupils constrict, making the amber of his irises gleam. 

The vision is a short one. By the time it’s over, Kenma’s features purse up in dismay and Kuroo is leaning towards him, as if he could protect him from the piece of knowledge with the curve of his body.

The other two notice that something has happened. It would have been difficult not to.

“What did you see?” Yamaguchi asks tentatively. 

Kenma swallows and slumps back down in his seat. His and Kuroo’s fearful thoughts echo each other, looping over and over in an endless cycle. 

When Kenma speaks, his quiet, deadpan voice is heavy with the weight of bad news. 

“Yamaguchi. I’m sorry,” he begins. He swallows again. “There’s going to be an accident. You’re going to find a well, and you’re going to fall.” 

—

They hadn’t been able to give them much more detail than that. All Kenma had seen was Yamaguchi falling and Yachi calling out in panic, reaching out in vain to grab him. Kenma didn’t know when the event was supposed to occur, or where it took place. He couldn’t exactly advise them on how to avoid Yamaguchi’s fate with so little to go on. The most he could do was ask them to come back again for another reading so that he could try to see more. 

Amidst the panic, it was easy for Kuroo to ignore the prickling that begins to build behind his eyeballs, almost like static, as the rest of the day wore on.

Yachi had returned that evening, after hours, while Kenma was sitting on the front porch. He was supposedly planning to play his 3DS, but the console sat unopened on his lap when she arrived, her eyes all puffy and red from crying. She’d sat next to Kenma in a companionable silence occasionally interspersed with questions about his life and his power.

She didn’t bring up the afternoon’s prediction again. 

“We have to help them,” Kenma says, after Yachi had left and Kuroo is getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth in their shared bathroom on the top floor of the house. 

Kuroo finishes rinsing out his mouth, spitting the bubbly water into the sink.

“We will,” he says, trying to muster up more confidence than he felt. “We’ll figure something out. We always do.” 

A problem with being psychically linked: it makes bluffing almost impossible.

If Kenma detects the falseness of his bravado, he doesn’t address it. He just wishes Kuroo good night before heading to his own room to bed. 

—

That night, Kuroo jerks awake hours before morning breaks, riding a wave of abject terror that isn’t his.

He pulls himself to his feet. He’s caught between the urgency of his racing heart and how discombobulated he is from being pulled from sleep so suddenly. The combination leaves him seasick on his feet. 

Kenma’s vision swims behind his eyelids upon every blink. The vividness of the ship rolling in the crashing waves and the screams of its passengers has him feeling like he’s going to fall, so he snatches at the knob on the door to his room to stabilize himself. 

He rubs at his eyes, trying his best to project calm and warmth along the line that ties him and Kenma together, even when his heart feels close to jumping up into his throat. 

Kuroo’s eyes have more or less adjusted to the pitch darkness by the time he crosses the hallway to Kenma’s room. Kenma is an unmoving lump in his bed when Kuroo lets himself in. He hears Kenma’s quick, stuttering breaths as soon as he lifts a corner of the blanket to slide in next to him, the old mattress squeaking under the extra weight. 

Kenma has curled himself into a tight ball. Kuroo lies down facing him, curling his larger frame around him, lifting his hands to where Kenma’s are pressed against his head and covering them. 

Neither of them say anything, even though Kenma is awake. Kuroo rests his forehead against Kenma’s, gently carding his fingers through Kenma’s hair as he and Kenma’s hearts start beating unbearably fast and panicked; two colorful hummingbirds beating their wings against the bars of a silver cage that shrinks with the passing of every second. 

The boat rises up on the crest of a wave. It hangs there, suspended, for a single horrible moment before plunging down again, its mast splitting in the middle as lighting cuts through the dark sky. 

By the time the storm is over, the ship will have been reduced to a wreck. 

Kenma’s fear and sorrow is overwhelming and Kuroo is drowning in it - but he accepts it, he takes it into himself, and he keeps on taking until the vision is over. He wraps around Kenma with mind and body both until Kenma’s shaking dies down and he drifts off back to sleep. 

—

When Kuroo wakes up again, it isn’t to the sound of the train, but he feels as though it’s passed right through his brain instead of over the tracks next to their house. He groans and rubs his forehead with the heel of his hand. This has been happening to him more and more recently - waking up feeling hungover after one of Kenma’s more difficult visions, but then the blankets start to shift around him and he puts his headache out of his mind as best he could. 

Kenma is still here. His head is pillowed onto Kuroo’s chest, his long, black hair a tangled scribble over Kuroo’s shoulder. The turbulence of last night is gone, replaced by the familiar quiet that Kuroo is so accustomed to. Kuroo closes his eyes and reaches for him; reaches until his thoughts and Kenma’s intwine to a point where they’re almost indistinguishable. This simple intimacy is one of Kuroo’s favorite things; this soft, slow warmth that’s just for him. He burrows into it, thinking about how much affection he has for Kenma until it spills over, filling their shared mental space with the colors of the sunrise. 

Kenma shivers against him, pleased, pulling him close for a few seconds before he breaks the spell.

“Kuro?”

Kuroo opens his eyes and looks at him. He’s so alert that Kuroo guesses he has to have been awake for a good while already. 

“Wow,” he says in mock incredulity, as if he hasn’t seen Kenma just after waking up thousands of times before. “And I thought _my_ bedhead was bad.” 

Kenma elbows him.

“Yours is still worse than mine.” 

Kuroo chuckles.

“You didn’t have to wait for me to wake up,” he says, even though he likes that Kenma did. 

Kenma shrugs off his question, twisting his hands idly in Kuroo’s shirt. 

_I want to visit the well today._

_The one you saw yesterday afternoon? You know where it is?_

_No, but I have a guess._

Kuroo nods, his chin brushing the top of Kenma’s head with the motion. 

“Alright. I’ll come with you.” 

He picks up on Kenma’s protest before Kenma gives voice to it. 

“Kenma, it’s fine. I just don’t want you getting lost like you did last time.” 

His mouth quirks in a crooked smirk. Kenma rolls his eyes at him and tries to smother him with one of his pillows. 

—

There’s a picturesque trail through the nearby woods that’s well-worn with footprints. 

Part of its allure is that it isn’t a very difficult trail to walk, but it is steep, with the occasional rock or felled tree that requires climbing over, and after half an hour of walking Kenma starts thinking about how sore his feet are and how comfortable their couch is back home. 

“Sure you don’t want me to carry you?” Kuroo asks, hopping over a tree branch. He sounds teasing, but he thoroughly means it. He’s lost count of how many times he’d carried Kenma to bed because Kenma fell asleep on the couch or at the dining table, and there was that time he carried Kenma the rest of the walk home from their town’s main street, bridal style, because Kenma groused about being too tired.

“I’m not _that_ tired,” Kenma says, after that particular memory flashes past their eyes. And then: “but maybe in a little while.” 

They walk for a while in silence - not that it’s ever truly silent between them. Kuroo takes in the observations Kenma is feeding him as they stroll along: the flash of a lizard’s tail as it disappears among the trees; the rush of wings as a bird takes flight from a branch; the merrily dancing water of a brook skipping over smooth pebbles and the quiet rush of the current joining the background noises that are full of life. And, underneath that, Kenma’s steady stream of analytical thoughts that never truly quiets unless he’s asleep. He’s mostly thinking about Yamaguchi today, of course, but also of visions he’s had in the past and how he’d managed to further hone in on them, whether by accident or by design. 

By now, Kuroo can barely remember a time where he hadn’t been connected to Kenma like this. 

It had happened when he was eight. Kenma’s family had moved into the house next door to his, and Kuroo was showing up on the Kozume family’s doorstep on the daily to play with Kenma. Kenma’s visions had been weaker, then, but they still rattled him enough that occasionally he’d be reluctant to go outside for fear of what what he’d seen happen there. On those days, sometimes Kuroo helped him build pillow forts in his room that he could retreat into instead, but other times he loudly insisted he’d protect Kenma from whatever he was afraid of, gently nudging him until he agreed go outside with Kuroo and explore where the edges of town began to blend into woods. 

Kenma’s and his minds had linked shortly after Kuroo became a regular fixture in the Kozume household. 

Nobody could explain it. Kuroo didn’t _have_ any magical skills, at least nothing he or his family had noticed. Kenma’s parents had assumed that Kenma was to blame, somehow; that the psychic link was an extension of his future sight. They’d taken Kenma to Nekomata, to witches and enchanters they’d heard of in visiting distance, but none of them could point to any potential cause no matter the methods they used to divine it. For a while, the Kozumes continued to be wary that Kenma would link with someone again, but over the years it became clear that Kuroo was - and would continue to be - the only victim of this particular accident. 

To Kuroo, the way it happened was like this: Kenma had called for him, and he’d answered. One day he’d noticed that Kenma was there, at the threshold of his consciousness, waiting. He’d always been waiting, with his hand outstretched and reaching for him. Kuroo just hadn’t seen it before. Once he did, he bridged the gap without hesitation. 

When they realized _they could hear each other’s thoughts_ , they’d looked at each other in shock, at first, but then Kenma had smiled and Kuroo had jumped on him, tackling him, pulling Kenma into his arms, and they’d laughed and laughed at the pure joy of it. 

_You only remember the good parts,_ Kenma thinks at him.

_All of this has been ‘good parts’._

Kenma picks out a memory of one of the witches sitting across from him and his parents, proclaiming how what had happened was a curse. He throws up another of Nekomata, taking both of them aside and gently suggesting that it might be a good idea to look into “fixing” what had happened. He had been kind, much kinder than the witch and the handful of others who had made similar comments, but the mere suggestion still leaves a sour taste in Kuroo’s mouth.

 _Okay, that was_ other people _being shitty. Everything between us has always been good._

_Even when you have to see my visions?_

_Kenma, this again? I told you, I don’t mind it._

The memory of his headache from this morning blips in and then out again. Kuroo blinks. Kenma had thought of it, not him, and there’s a discomfort twisting in Kenma’s gut. Kuroo frowns, wanting to prod further, but then they finish scaling the slope and emerge into a grassy clearing that spans a good few hundred meters before the hill starts climbing again. 

The glare of the sun now that they’re out of the trees is sudden and blinding, and Kuroo guards his eyes against it with one hand. 

“How do you know this is the one?” he calls out. Kenma is already picking his way across the grass to the small well in the distance, his hands shoved down the back of his pants. 

_I don’t, but it’s the best start I have._

Kuroo follows behind him.

 _If it’s supposed to happen in the near future, or if they visit Shouyou again, it will be here,_ Kenma continues. _And the trees… the trees in the vision. They looked similar to these ones._

Kuroo hums. He hadn’t noticed that, but trust Kenma to. 

_You thought it, too. That it might be here._

_Yeah, but it seemed a little too neat. I hope you’re right, though. It’d make things a hell of a lot easier._

They both come to a stop in front of the well. The clearing is full of the sounds of nature - birdsong and the harsh, intermittent buzzing of insects. The grass, patchy in parts, is a vivid emerald green, dotted with dandelions, and still wet from the brief rainshower that had occurred earlier that morning right before they headed out. 

Odd to think that someone might be destined to die here. 

The well is obviously old. Its stone is weathered and it has no rope or bucket, just a wooden frame with a clump of tiny mushrooms growing out of one rotted corner.

Kuroo jams his hands in his jeans pockets and scrapes idly at the earth with the toe of his sneaker. 

“See anything?” he asks, unnecessarily. If Kenma had seen anything, Kuroo would have, too, and Kenma hasn’t had any visions since they’d woken up.

Kenma doesn’t answer. 

He steps closer to the well, resting his hands on its edge and feeling along its uneven edges with his fingers. He curls both his hands over the well’s rim and leans forward so that he can peer into it.

And then Kuroo’s stomach drops like it’s going to fall out of his body.

He’s possessed with a sudden, irrational fear that Kenma is going to lose his balance and pitch forward. Kenma doesn’t turn around at Kuroo’s sudden spike of fear; he’s focused on the stone of the well, stroking his fingertips over its edge again, and again, and then he’s sucking in a sharp gasp as the vision of Yamaguchi’s death explodes into both their minds for the second time. Yamaguchi puts his hand out, reaching out for something, and the old stone crumbles under him, falls away into the darkness. Yachi’s scream rings in their ears and Yamaguchi falls, falls, falls.

The vertigo is as strong as if Kuroo was looking into the well’s depths himself, and he swears that Kenma is about to fall, he can practically see it happening, Yachi’s scream is echoing, growing even louder, and the last thing Kuroo remembers before he blacks out is grabbing Kenma around the waist and yanking him backwards, away from the well and onto the grass.

—

When Kuroo wakes up, Kenma isn’t there.

He’s alone in his bed, his head filled with no one else’s thoughts but his own against a bland, reverberating nothingness, as if he were the only person in an empty music hall. 

His first thought is that something must have happened to Kenma. He thought he’d pulled Kenma back from the brink of the well, but maybe he’d only imagined that, maybe Kenma was—

A phantom vice closes around his throat at the possibility. He throws the comforter off and rushes out of his room and down the stairs, the old wood creaking in complaint under his stomping feet. He skids to a stop at the bottom, peering into the shop.

Kenma is there, pushing the front door closed with a jangle. He looks like he was just showing somebody out, even though it's already dark outside from what Kuroo can see through the drawn blinds. They shouldn't have any customers at this hour. 

Kenma turns around and notices him standing there, looking at him with an expression that might be relief. 

"Kuro. You're awake." 

Seeing Kenma isn't comforting in the slightest. It's the most unnerving thing. Kenma is here, standing in front of him, but his physical presence just highlights how much of a disconnect there is because _Kenma is not in his head_. 

Instinctively, he tries to temper his panic so that it doesn’t spill over their connection, so that it doesn’t bombard Kenma’s mind, but there’s no point, there’s no answering concern surging up to meet him, just Kenma looking at him with wide, amber eyes. 

The distance between them seems to expand, the room stretching into miles, and Kuroo can barely stand it.

“Kenma,” he says, his voice warped into a raw, shaking thing. He crosses the room, looking down at what seems to him to be more of a ghost or an imposter than the person he’s spent the majority of his life with.

“What happened,” he gets out. “Why are you— Are you alright, are you hurt, I don’t—”

“I’m fine,” says Kenma. His eyebrows are upturned and pinched together; his lips are in a hard line like he’s pressed them shut against words he isn’t supposed to say. He isn’t looking Kuroo in the eyes. Kuroo gives in to the compulsion to reach out and take him by the shoulders, but feeling Kenma’s real, tangible body under his hands doesn’t reassure him anymore than seeing Kenma did.

“Kuro,” says Kenma, again, quiet and strained. “You fainted. After the vision. You were out for _hours_. I was— I was afraid, I didn’t know what was happening to you, so I…”

He trails off, looking at his feet, like he’s ashamed, like he’s culpable of something Kuroo hasn’t discovered yet.

“ _Kenma_ ,” Kuroo says, desperate, squeezing Kenma by the shoulders, willing him to meet his gaze. “ _What did you do?_ ” 

“I spoke to Nekomata,” Kenma whispers.

Kuroo swallows, scared. Him fainting after a vision - he can only imagine what that must have looked like. And if Kenma had asked the old man for help, Kuroo knows what he must have suggested: the same thing he’d been stubbornly insisting ever since he and Kenma were children.

“Kenma,” he gives Kenma a little shake, his panic building into a storm of hurt at what Kenma must have done - even if it was for his own safety. “I’m awake now. I’m fine. See?” He tries his best to sound level, reasonable, and not like he’s begging. “You can come back.”

Kenma shakes his head - a jerky, side-to-side motion that makes his hair bounce around his chin. 

“I’m not sure that’s not a good idea.”

“ _Why?_ ” 

The words are almost a shout. Kuroo has only been conscious for a few moments without Kenma and he’s already yearning for it to stop; isn’t Kenma feeling it, too? How many overwhelming visions had Kenma seen while Kuroo was out and unable to help? 

“Don’t you trust me?”

Kuroo takes a deep breath. 

“Can we at least _talk_ about this? You can’t just decide this on your own, and I can’t talk to you like this, it hurts too much—” 

“Kuro…”

“Kenma. _Please._ ”

He’s definitely begging, now, but he can’t even feel bad about it when Kenma’s absence makes him _ache_ —

Kenma puts one of his hands over one of Kuroo’s, takes a deep, shuddering breath, and Kuroo feels him again all at once in a sudden rush that makes him gasp. Kenma’s anxious, exhausted, berating thoughts all fill his mind like the sweetest of symphonies. Kuroo’s throat seizes around a sob at the welcome intensity of it, his fingers curling in Kenma’s shirt. He slouches in relief, his body cleaving to Kenma’s smaller frame, and he pulls Kenma’s thoughts to his, blends them together until they’re so closely connected he can hope that Kenma doesn’t stand a chance of separating them again.

—

Kenma takes Kuroo’s hand and leads him into the small sitting room on the first floor. He insists on shoving a glass of water and a snack on him first, though, despite Kuroo insisting that he’s fine. Once he finishes a thing of melon pan, gulps down half the water and calms down some, Kenma explains. 

It’s just as Kuroo guessed: Kenma had called Nekomata, Nekomata had come over, and he’d advised Kenma to do what he did - to sever their bond. That was after Kenma had called Taketora and Kai to help get Kuroo home after he’d passed out. They’d switched off carrying him piggyback along the trail to the house. 

“You were out like a light,” Kenma says. “You didn’t even move when Taketora didn’t duck down enough and bumped your head on a branch.” 

Kuroo snorts.

“I’ll have to thank them later. But why— Nekomata has been telling us to cut ties for years. We always thought he was wrong.”

The flow of Kenma’s thoughts catches on a snag that tells Kuroo that that isn’t true anymore, at least not for him. Kuroo, in a way, expected that, though. Kenma is stubborn, and he wouldn't have decided to listen if he didn't believe there was a very good reason for it.

“Kenma? What changed your mind?”

Kenma is avoiding Kuroo’s gaze again, but Kuroo barely notices this time because Kenma’s nervousness announces itself like a banner. 

“You still have to ask?” Kenma murmurs, twisting the ends of his hair between his fingers. With every twist comes another spike of nerves, nerves, nerves. “We can’t continue like this, not after what happened today.” 

Kuroo forces a careless laugh. 

“Why, because I took a little spill? C’mon, Kenma, I can handle more than that.” 

“Stop.” Kenma’s voice is quiet but sharp. His hair is falling in his face in a way that makes Kuroo want to brush it out of his eyes. 

Kenma flicks through all the little hurts and inconveniences Kuroo has been trying to forget: the static-like aftershocks that plague his brain after a particularly troubling vision; the morning headaches that never seem to go away; the gaps in time that escape him when he tries to remember what he’d been doing. 

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore.” 

Kenma’s consciousness coils tight, tight around Kuroo’s own even as Kenma announces his decision. It’s so sweet yet so painful that Kuroo can’t keep the anguish out of his voice when he answers; can’t keep his thoughts from surging against Kenma’s, turbulent in his distress. 

“And it’s fine for you to keep on hurting? We know how hard the visions can be on you. It’s just going to be worse if you shut me out.” 

Because that’s what it is, when it comes down to it. This is Kenma pushing Kuroo out of his brain; banishing him from a place that’s become as dear and familiar to him as home, and leaving him rootless. 

Kenma is squeezing his eyes shut, like if he can’t see Kuroo he won’t be able to feel the torrent of Kuroo’s thoughts against his. There are no words, but Kuroo sees glimpses of Kenma’s talk with Nekomata; sees Kenma finally taking him up on his offer to teach Kenma to control his power better.

He can’t think straight.

“I can’t talk about this right now. I’m sorry.” 

He strides out of the room and down the stairs, aware, as he’s tying his shoelace and grabbing his keys, that all he’s doing is stalling. But even that’s better than discussing this further for now. 

He slams the front door shut and doesn’t look back.

—

Kuroo doesn’t exactly have a destination in mind when he leaves, he just wants to _move_ , to do something with this negative energy aside from stew in it.

It’s not the middle of the night, but it’s late enough that there aren’t many people around. The roads are quiet aside from the incessant chirping of crickets and the occasional rush of a car whizzing past on the main road, but that gets softer and softer the further away he ventures from the town. 

His feet take him to the edge of river. His sneakers sink slightly in the mud at the shore and he plunges his fingers into the muck, searching for stones. When he finds one he tosses it over the water, barely illuminated by the starlight. It skips, creating momentary wrinkles in the swath of black before vanishing and allowing the tableau to settle again.

Now that Kuroo isn’t presented with the urgency of Kenma’s absence, he can allow himself to notice the throbbing headache that’s drumming behind his eyeballs. 

Fine. So his head hurts and he was knocked out for a few hours. He’s not sure that warrants getting rid of this- this _thing_ that he and Kenma have. He can barely even remember a time when Kenma’s mind hadn’t been linked with his.

He skips stones for what feels like hours until the sky darkens even further into the stillness of night. Even now, away from the house, he can feel Kenma’s presence, waiting, always waiting, even though Kenma is trying his best to not pay attention to him right now. He brushes Kenma’s consciousness with his own, getting a brief glimpse of sullenness, of sadness, before Kenma pulls away again.

—

When Kuroo returns, he heads straight to his room after a brief detour to the bathroom to wash the earth off his hands. 

He’d just come upstairs to avoid getting into another conversation with Kenma. He didn’t _think_ he was sleepy, not after napping the entire afternoon away, but after a few minutes of lying on his bed and starting moodily up at the ceiling, he feels himself start to drift off. 

Kenma doesn’t broach the topic again the next day. He doesn’t speak to Kuroo much at all, really, merely checking up on him now and again, the spark of his consciousness appearing at the edge of Kuroo’s for split seconds before retreating. 

Kuroo looks for Kenma after closing time. He finds him sitting on the porch again, his hands empty of electronics. 

For a while, neither of them say anything. 

_You told Yamaguchi what you saw?_

_Yes. He said he and Yachi were planning on walking that trail while they were here. If they avoid that area, they should be fine._

_Let’s hope so._

They fall silent again. A cool breeze rustles the leaves on the shrub next to the front door. 

_Do you really think it’s only going to get worse?_ Kuroo thinks eventually. He’d gleaned as much from Kenma since yesterday, even though Kenma hadn’t said anything outright.

 _I do._

Kenma’s thoughts had been steeped in sorrow even since they’d come back from the well. 

_There’s no other way, huh?_

_I think it was always going to end up like this, but I wanted to continue being with you for as long as possible. I’m pretty selfish, I guess._

When Kuroo turns to face Kenma, Kenma is watching him. 

_Ha, if that’s selfish, that makes the two of us. I’ve known you could have ended it ever since you started being able to use objects to focus more on your visions, but I never suggested it, either._

Kenma smiles faintly, looking back at the stars.

Kuroo thinks about how maybe all of this happened for a reason. Maybe Kenma was meant to find him when he needed him; maybe now that Kenma is older, Kuroo’s usefulness has run out. 

He ignores the indignant protest that begins to bubble in Kenma’s brain at his assessment.

_Promise me you’ll be alright. Without me there to… you know._

_I will. Nekomata is going to teach me, remember?_

_He’ll be overjoyed._

This is it, then. 

_Kenma, if we’re going to do it, we should do it now._

Kenma turns to look at him, surprised but also concerned.

_I thought you’d want a few days to get used to the idea._

Kuroo thinks about dragging it out like that; settling cocooned in Kenma’s mind only to anticipate it ending. 

_No, it’ll be better this way._

Kenma shifts slightly on the bench so that he’s leaning against Kuroo, his consciousness curling with Kuroo’s even as his resolve hardens; as he reminds himself of the logical reasons for this and of his desire to protect Kuroo.

Kuroo still thinks he doesn’t need protecting.

_I’m going to miss it._

_Hey, c’mon, having a bit of privacy will probably be nice. You’ll be able to play all those BL games without me snooping in._

Kenma makes a short huffing sound; a laugh. 

_Don’t pretend you’re not going to do that anyway. You'll just have to use your own eyes from now on._

They sit like that for a little while longer, enjoying this companionable peace between them, both loath to act on the decision they’ve made.

Finally, Kenma gets to his feet, toeing his slippers back on from where he’d kicked them off under the seat. 

“Come on. Let’s do this inside.” 

They go upstairs to the sitting room. Kuroo’s dread builds with every step they take. Kenma mirrors it right back at him. Kuroo tries to half-heartedly will it away, but part of him is glad to have this synchronicity for another few moments, as unpleasant as the shared feeling might be.

They sit on the couch, facing each other.

“So, how does this work?” Kuroo says with affected carelessness. “Is there a spell? A ceremony?”

“Nothing like that,” Kenma says. “It’ll just stop.”

“It’ll just stop,” Kuroo repeats. “But you’d be able to bring it back again, if you wanted. Like when I woke up. Right?” 

Kenma shakes his head.

“I didn’t do it properly yesterday. This time, I think it’ll be for good.”

Kuroo swallows. He’d known that, of course, but he’d banked on the chance that he’d be wrong, for once. 

It’s okay. This is all okay. They’ll just be like regular people, living their lives without literally being in each other’s heads. 

The idea isn’t attractive at all. Kuroo's throat and chest feel so, so tight. 

“Kenma,” he says suddenly. 

Kenma mentally nudges him: _yes?_.

“Kiss me. When you do it.” 

Kenma’s eyes are bright and trained on him like a spotlight, but there’s no surprise, just the same embarrassed affection that’s always been there whenever Kenma thinks Kuroo is being particularly dumb and sentimental. 

“Okay,” Kenma says. 

Kuroo isn’t expecting Kenma to _climb into his lap_ , but that’s what Kenma does - straddling his thighs and sliding his arms around Kuroo’s neck. 

The first kiss is chaste, a testing of the waters, an _is this okay?_. Kuroo’s answer is in how his hands fall to Kenma’s hips; how he closes his eyes and kisses Kenma back, firm and insistent. 

Kuroo has kissed people before. Kenma hasn’t, but he can sense exactly what Kuroo likes - he nibbles Kuroo’s bottom lip, flicks his tongue against it, curls his fingers in the hair near the base of Kuroo’s neck.

Kuroo kisses Kenma again and again, holding onto his hips and pulling him closer, his pleasure feeding off of Kenma’s.

And then Kenma’s presence in his head begins to fade. Kuroo fights his instinct to hold on as Kenma slips away until, all at once, there’s a wall between them and Kuroo can’t feel him anymore. 

It aches. He thinks he feels wetness on his cheeks - whether they’re his own tears or Kenma’s, he can’t tell. He doesn’t want to break apart to find out. He just keeps kissing Kenma like this, a paltry replacement for what they’ve lost, and Kenma puts his fingers in Kuroo’s hair and Kuroo wishes, wishes that this will be enough.

— 

Yamaguchi and Yachi finish out their visit without Yamaguchi dying, and Kuroo and Kenma heave sighs of relief. 

Hinata comes by the next day. He’s even more full of energy because Kenma “saved his friend’s life”; jumping up at Kenma and enveloping him in a grateful hug. 

Kenma insists that that wasn’t how it happened, but he accepts the hug anyway. 

“You two seem different,” Hinata comments, cocking his head at them after his excited chatter has died down. 

“You’re imagining things,” Kenma says flatly, and leaves it at that. 

It’s been a few days since Kenma had broken their connection. Kuroo feels as though he’s lost a limb, or a sense. Even though he knows Kenma well enough to read his expressions, and still remembers enough to guess what Kenma’s corresponding thoughts might be, it’s still not the same. He finds himself paying closer attention to how Kenma’s face changes with his mood, his gestures, his little verbal habits. It’s kind of nice, learning these things about Kenma, but if he were given the chance to experience the world in stereo again, he knows what his choice would be.

They don’t spend much time apart. Even Kuroo’s customers have noticed it, remarking on how Kenma spends more time in the shop than usual; on how Kuroo’s gaze never seems to stray far from him. Kenma has gotten into the habit of falling asleep in Kuroo’s room instead of his own, to the point that Kuroo is beginning to wonder whether having two bedrooms is a waste. 

When the sun begins to set and Kuroo can’t find Kenma in the shop, he starts looking for him immediately. He finds him on the hill behind the train station, laying under the shady tree right at its peak.

He’s playing a game. Kuroo flops down beside him, putting his hands behind his head. Kenma turns the game off and sets his console down on the grass. 

“Wow, you actually stopped playing for _me_? I’m flattered.”

“The battery died.”

“Oh.”

Kenma wastes no time in curling up against Kuroo’s side. Kuroo wraps an arm around him. They’ve never really been touchy like this - well, Kuroo is a little touchy with _everyone_ because communicating that way is nice, but he's usually not touchy to this extent with Kenma. He wonders whether this new, affectionate Kenma has emerged for the same reasons that Kuroo can’t seem to stop observing him; whether Kenma is trying to best replicate their old connection with the means still left to them. 

He strokes Kenma’s hair idly, watching the sky turn from gold to pink to violet. 

Abruptly, Kenma shifts so that he’s laying on top of Kuroo, kissing him and tangling their legs together. 

Kuroo brings his hands to the small of Kenma’s back and lets himself be kissed. Even when they’re this physically close - when he can feel the warm skin of Kenma’s calves against his own and taste the sweet flavor of soda still on Kenma’s tongue - they’re still so far apart. It’s bittersweet. Kuroo isn’t sure that he’ll ever stop feeling this sense of loss whenever he so much as glances at Kenma or touches him. 

“What was that for?” he asks, breathless, once Kenma pulls away. 

“Felt like it,” says Kenma, shifting and settling in against his chest. 

Kuroo lazily traces the lines of Kenma’s back with his hands for a while longer until he’s possessed with the urge to blurt out a question, so he does.

“Is this going to be okay?” 

As soon as the words leave his mouth he’s struck by how pointless it is to ask; how Kenma - unless he’s seen anything about them, specifically - isn’t any more equipped to answer that than he is. 

Kenma considers the question seriously, though, sitting up on Kuroo’s lap, straddling his hips and looking down at him in an evaluating sort of way. He brushes Kuroo’s ever-present, messy bangs out of his eyes. 

“I’m not going anywhere, Kuro.”

Kuroo huffs a laugh.

“I know you’re not. That isn’t what I asked.”

“We’ll have to wait and see. But I’m still not going anywhere, whatever happens.”

Kuroo looks up at him. His heart feels so full, almost fit to burst. Kenma looks striking, with the vestiges of sunlight spattering through the leaves of the trees and hitting his hair; with that serious set of his mouth. 

It does reassure Kuroo to know that he still _has_ him, even if it might not be in the way they both want.

If they were still connected, Kenma would pick up on these thoughts and poke him hard in the side, probably, but since that is no longer the case, Kuroo figures he’ll just have to embarrass Kenma verbally.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

Predictably, Kenma’s cheeks go pink and his gaze drops from Kuroo’s eyes to somewhere around his collarbone.

“ _Stop_.” 

“Make me,” Kuroo grins. 

Kenma’s expression turns determined. Kuroo can tell what he’s going to do even without a mental link, this time, and he tilts his head up to meet Kenma as he’s silenced with another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> omitted warnings bc spoilers: Referenced Major Character Death (he doesn't actually die, though.)


End file.
